


A Long Night in the Slipstream

by sugarboat



Series: Anon Prompt Writing [5]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Cunnilingus, Emotional Hurt, F/M, Other, Pegging, Threesome - F/F/M, Vaginal Sex, mild Spiral-typical unreality, referenced as related to Helen existing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:53:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26642512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sugarboat/pseuds/sugarboat
Summary: Jon's rescue from the circus takes a detour.
Relationships: Helen | The Distortion/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Nikola Orsinov/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Series: Anon Prompt Writing [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1889935
Comments: 3
Kudos: 47





	A Long Night in the Slipstream

**Author's Note:**

> 100 words of weird threesomes

Jon supposes that it makes sense, given the entities involved, that he doesn’t know the exact series of circumstances that led to this moment. He knows that he’s still in the wax museum, surrounded by figures that seem to warp and move in the peripheries of his vision. He knows that he’s on his hands and knees, that the thighs bracketing his face are smooth and warm and inhuman. The fingers trailing along his face threaten to split and part his skin beneath their weight.

He knows that in the end, it wasn’t his screaming that attracted the Stranger’s attention, but Michael’s.

Things got a bit blurry after that. Helen stepping out of her door while another door burst open behind him, and hands that didn’t feel like hands landed on his body, stilled his movements, wrestled him to his knees in a struggle that wasn’t really a struggle at all. Helen stayed with him. Nikola came eventually.

“Really, Archivist,” Nikola says, her hands stroking along his back. Along his ass, fingers crooking and digging into his skin. One hand keeps its grip, carves bruises into his skin, and the other walks fingers down to where he’s stretched achingly open around whatever she’s fucking him with. “And after we’ve gone through all the effort to be hospitable for you.”

She’s buried so deep inside him, her hips flush to him. He’s thankful that she slicked herself before forcing her way inside him. The throbbing and jolting licks of pain that follow every one of her movements don’t come from being torn – he hopes – but from his abused, spasming muscles.

“I hesitate to criticize,” Helen says at his front, “But I believe your manner of hospitality might have left something to be desired.”

The sharpened scalpel press of her fingers skate down his throat. They trace along his jaw, and Jon shivers when she slips. He feels blood spill before the cut even begins to sting and burn. She’s let him rest but guides him forward now, as he feels Nikola dragging slowly out of him – horrifically, brutally slowly, so he’s forced into awareness of every bit of its length leaving him, the awful clench of his body in its wake – and his face is back between her thighs when Nikola drives her cock inside him again.

“Do you? Do you believe that?” Nikola asks her, her voice detached entirely from the forceful snapping of her hips, hard enough to shove him forward against Helen’s cunt, hard to enough to draw short, sharp vocalizations out of his chest. “What about you, Archivist? Have you not enjoyed your stay?”

Helen keeps touching him. She feels so human against his mouth, soft and slick and hot. A hard clit for him to suck, folds for his tongue to dip between and lap against. She doesn’t taste human. She gasps and sighs and twitches her hips, and her hands touch his chest, feather light caresses that keep breaking the skin, leave singing, stinging lines in their wake that pulse with his heartbeat.

“Helen thought about this,” Helen says. Or, the Distortion says, Jon isn’t sure what the difference is. “While she was in the corridors. Knowing she was never going to leave them again. Sometimes, she didn’t want to think about death. Sometimes, she thought about your mouth instead. She called it _clever_.”

He feels like a plucked cord, tight and tremulous between them. He tries to pay attention, to focus on what she says, what she means. To busy himself with what he can know and understand, the shifting of her body and steady increase of her breathing. Nikola carving into him, again and again, slipping inside him like she tells him oh so often she’s dying to.

“Clever little Archivist,” Nikola sing-songs. Her fingers dig gouges into one side of his hip and she bends over him, tangles her other hand in his hair and shoves his face into Helen’s lap. “Elias’ clever little Archivist, isn’t that right? Aren’t you owned? Aren’t you claimed?”

The angles he’s forced into grow steeper, his back painfully arched as Nikola holds him bowed between her hands. Helen’s hands reach too far down his chest, too long, too sharp, ten trails of bright sensation that slip deeper inside him every time he’s jarred forward from Nikola’s thrusts.

“Would you like to know a secret? I know a very good secret, Archivist, and I bet you’d like to know, too.” Jon shudders and turns his face to Helen’s thigh, breathes in her scent that’s almost familiar but not quite right. “Should I tell you? Oh, I just don’t know! But you are being so good for me, aren’t you? And for our dearly uninvited guest, too!”

“Michael came here,” Helen points out. “I just opened a door.”

“Right!” Nikola chirps, very much in a way that implies her utter disinterest in Helen’s input, and then she pushes herself to the hilt inside him and pauses there again. “It’s about your Elias.”

Jon can’t help himself – the jolt of surprise that goes through him, the sudden desperation that clenches hard in his chest.

“Oh, now I’ve properly got your attention, haven’t I? Do you know what your Elias does, when he listens to your tapes? Why, I think I hear one now, nasty little voyeurs.”

Her touch has turned abruptly gentle, her hand slipping out of his hair. Both of them petting down the bridge of his spine, fanned fingers following the taper of his waist.

“Do you know what he does when he listens to you? When he hears you begging for me?”

Jon feels sick. As if it isn’t enough to break for her enjoyment. He bites at the inside of his cheek, though he has no idea what he wants her to say. He doesn’t expect sympathy from Elias, of all people.

“What do you think he does, Archivist? You’re such a vital part of his plans. You’re _important_ , aren’t you?”

No. Yes. Jon doesn’t know. Elias watches. But he’s interfered before, hasn’t he? Interfered for Jon, and he’s never wanted it before, never needed it like he does now-

Helen’s sharp, wrong fingers alight at the tip of his chin and tilt his face up towards her. She’s watching him curiously and everything, everything hurts, she looks so much like she did when she was in his office, needing his help.

“Oh, Helen – do I call you Helen? Are you Helen now? Do you even know what you are anymore?”

“Not really, no.”

“Well, either way I applaud your instincts! Just look at his face! So hopeful! He really thinks the Eye is going to protect him.”

Jon’s breathing has gotten quicker, shallower. He doesn’t- he knows, they aren’t going to help him, Elias will let him die, Elias will collect his bones-

(But isn’t he important? To Elias’ plans? To the Institute? Didn’t he belong there?)

“Oh, but Archivist, your Elias is such a naughty boy.” Her hands wrap around his throat from behind and she pulls him up, still impaled on her cock, her rictus smile pressed against his neck. “How many times has he listened to you beg and fight? And do you know what he does? What he’s doing right now?”

Her trilling voice lilts down into a simpering stage-whisper, her body against his, unnaturally still in its static carved form.

“He’s doing nothing, Archivist! Nothing at all!”

He- he knew that. It’s not- not a secret, not a surprise.

“There’s not even a hint that he wants you back! Isn’t that just dreadful?”

She grinds her dick inside him, drags them back until he’s straddling her, and Helen follows him like a ghost. It’s hard to breath around unrelenting clenching of his chest, the crushing pressure that apparently comes in the wake of being utterly abandoned.

“Why do you think that is? Do you think there’s something wrong with you?” Nikola asks, slipping a hand down, and down, to stroke along his cock. “Some reason the Eye doesn’t want you anymore?”

“I don’t think that’s true,” Helen says, her fingers tracing his ribs. “They gave me-”

“Helen, dear, we are so very busy. We have to get our Archivist ready, don’t we?”

Jon can’t keep track of much anymore, his mind swimming in sensation, reeling from something like shock. But Nikola works him to full hardness and he moans when Helen’s legs part around his body, when she sinks down him, all tight, velvet heat. Jostles him against the cock still filling him when her body begins to undulate, and she strokes her fingers along her neck when he hides his face against her chest.

“Well, the Eye may not want you now, but you have a new place, don’t you? A new beginning! A new show to star in!”

Heat and tension are pooling between his hips, spiraling tight and awful. Nikola’s shifted to press against a spot that makes his vision white, his limbs trembling and shaking, a moan forced out of him every time Helen rolls against his lap. He thinks Helen’s enjoying herself, from how her chest heaves and her voices goes breathless and her body keeps flickering and stinging around him. Her touch is still so gentle, so cutting.

Nikola’s fingers crawl over his body and slip into the scratches Helen’s left behind. Dig inside him and pull apart.

“Yes, a bit longer, and you’ll be just perfect!” Nikola promises, cooing into his ear. “I’ll even do you a favor! I’ll make sure your Elias watches, when it’s me wearing you.”

He comes pinned between two monsters. He supposes it makes sense, that he can’t follow the exact series of circumstances after that. A finger like broken glass sweeps beneath one eye, and then the other, gathering up tears he hadn’t realized he was spilling.

In the corridors, Helen sets him gingerly on his feet. She’s back to business casual. Her hair is slightly a mess.

“They gave me a map,” she says. Jon stares at her.

“Uh,” he says, his voice a cracked rasp. He doesn’t know who she’s talking about. “Right.”

She nods. “It’s this way, Archivist.”

And she walks away, deeper into the Spiral, and Jon follows.


End file.
